


Wired Wrong: Chapter 4

by ash_carpenter



Series: Wired Wrong [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Daddy Issues, Gangbang, Humiliation, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Parent/Child Incest, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 19:45:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3353099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ash_carpenter/pseuds/ash_carpenter





	Wired Wrong: Chapter 4

  
**Chapter 4**  


 

Things had gone to shit – and then downhill from there.

Getting John back had been enough of a trial – and Sam didn’t even want to _think_ about the ugly lust he’d felt at seeing his father tied to a bed like that – and then Dean had blown away that demon, with its human host still inside.

And just when they’d taken a second to breathe and regroup at the cabin, they’d realised that John was possessed. By the yellow-eyed demon, no less.

To make things extra specially horrific, the demon had full access to all of John’s memories – and oh how it was enjoying bringing out every nasty little detail of their sordid family affairs. With both Sam and Dean pinned by the force of its mind, it was taking its time too, clearly revelling in their discomfiture and pain.

“You know, you fight and you fight for this family, but the truth is they don’t need you. Not like you need them. Sam? He’s clearly John’s favourite. Even when they fight, that’s more concern than he’s ever shown you.” It cocked his head and grinned at Dean. “But that’s probably because he’s such a great fuck. The first time John slid inside him while he cried and begged at the same time? It’s one of the best things he’s ever felt. He can’t even remember the first time with you; it felt no different than any nameless whore he’s ever been with.”

“You shut your mouth,” growled Dean.

“Face it, kiddo: you just happened to be there. You’re a soldier and you’re a couple of holes to fuck – and even that wasn’t good enough. He still had to get away from you.”

Dean stared at it. “You know, you’re wasting your time if you think you can hurt me. Anything you can say? I already know. So how about we go back to talking about your kids, huh? And how fucking good it felt to put a bullet through your boy’s brain.”

There was a long, drawn-out moment while the demon stared at Dean with naked hate, the full twisted blackness of its soul evident in its eyes. Sam held his breath, praying that it didn’t hurt Dean, although he knew this prayer – like so many others – would go unanswered.

Sam and Dean both started screaming as the demon ruptured Dean’s insides, blood pouring from the wounds. Sam couldn’t see how Dean managed to be coherent, but he pulled himself together enough to beg John not to let the demon kill him.

Amazingly, Sam felt the invisible hold on him loosening, and he slumped. Desperate to pull focus away from Dean, he started making an unholy racket, luring both John and the demon’s attention. As his father stepped towards him, eyes flashing between yellow and brown while John struggled to regain some power, Sam spotted Dean lurching for the Colt from the corner of his eye.

Sam didn’t even manage to speak to whoever was in front of him before the demon forced back control from John in a burst of strength and flung Sam back against the wall, his head knocking against the wood hard enough that stars burst through his vision and his head lolled forward.

“Hey, asshat,” snarled Dean.

Blinking his eyes, trying to focus, Sam watched the demon striding back over to Dean, who had the Colt levelled at its head. He saw his father’s broad shoulders tense and felt a tightening in his chest. He tried to step forwards to intervene and ended up crumpling into a heap on the floor.

“You can’t shoot,” his father’s voice said, shocked and pained. “It’ll kill –”

“My dad?” said Dean, a vicious smile cutting across his face. “Yeah. I know. But he trusts me to do what’s best; he told me so a thousand times.”

Stepping closer, Dean stared at the creature, eyes full of a furious fire. Sam tried to speak, to find some way to stop the horror show unfolding in front of him, but neither Dean nor the demon would even look at him. All he could see what the back of John’s head and Dean’s hateful glower. And he understood what Dean needed to do, what John would want, but it was just too much to bear.

“You should have stayed away from my family,” growled Dean. “You should never have touched him. And now you’re finally going to get what you deserve.”

Sam screamed as Dean shot John’s body through the heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Dean hums to himself as he walks up the path to the shitty little house they’re renting, in a good mood to be let off work early. They’re moving on again and the owner of the local dive bar, Aaron, just wished him well and put an extra twenty in the little stack of bills from his last bar-backing shift. Pretty sweet._

_He expects either yelling or aggressive, oppressive silence as he opens the door. Sam will be pissed that they’re leaving, and the frustration and despair in his eyes is harder for Dean to withstand than the blazing rows with John, playing piggy-in-the-middle as they throw their poisoned barbs at one another._

_Dean wishes that he could wave a magic wand and make it better for Sam: he’d do anything to make the kid happy – including a few things that have no place between brothers, and he forcefully tramps down on the dirty urges that try to light him up from the inside. Sam is seventeen and glorious, really growing into the beauty that Dean’s always seen in him._

_The rhythmic scrape and low grunts and curses scare him at first, and he worries that Sam has pushed John far enough to catch a real beat-down. Biting his lip, he creeps down the corridor and peers into the kitchen, already trying to decide how to pull John away from Sam without making it worse. He doesn’t mind taking a belt in Sam’s place: it won’t be the first time._

_The scene as he peers around the corner doesn’t make sense to him at first; he watches for a full ten seconds before his mind finally accepts what it’s seeing, taking the blow of realisation like a sledgehammer to the sternum._

_He’s hot and cold, an atom bomb followed by nuclear winter. The anger and jealousy flow like lava, but calculation stems the tide, a weird arousal-soaked tranquillity settling his blood._

_Sam’s already fucked up._

_It should make him sad and he should want to murder their goddamned father. And to a certain extent those things are true, but mostly he just feels relief. John can take the hit for turning Sam into a deviant, and there’s an awful freedom in that._

_Dean’s hard in his pants, his clenched fists are shaking, and there are unheeded tears tracking down his face. But instead of saying anything, he gives a last lingering glance at Sam’s pain- and lust-contorted face and then slowly backs away._

 

Dean leaned back against the headboard, stretching his legs out until his ankles cracked and then sinking into the mattress with a sigh. Sam was tucked naked against his side, drooling a little; he’d fallen asleep halfway through _Die Hard 2_ , probably because he’d seen it about a hundred times over the years.

Sam’s eyes were puffy and bruised from grief and lack of sleep, but he looked peaceful. They comforted each other, and taking care of Dean seemed to help Sam. He knew how much Dean had loved their father and he was trying to ease him through the mourning process, being gentle and sweet and tactfully not talking about anything. He understood that Dean accepted physical solace more readily, so they spent their nights hot and sweaty and all tangled up in one another.

Dean softly stroked Sam’s hair back from his forehead, his mouth twisting into a contented little smile as he considered how well things had worked out.

There was a special knack to making enough noise and leaving enough of a trail for a good hunter to track you, without it seeming obvious that you wanted to be followed. Dean had done it twice recently, the first time when he’d ‘sneaked’ out of his and Sam’s motel to go fuck their father, and the second when he’d headed out to that dive club to get passed around like a fucktoy.

He’d known about Sam and John since the very first time – and he’d been waiting for his opportunity since then. He hadn’t wanted to mess Sammy up, but seeing his daddy balls-deep had given him the freedom of knowing that it was far too late. They’d lost him to Stanford, and Dean had never really forgiven John for that, but Dean had always known that would be temporary. In some ways, John had been a decent enough substitute: despite his resentment, Dean was built wrongly enough to be turned on by his gruff and authoritative father. And John had only required his bottle of whiskey spiked with a potent drug-and-aphrodisiac cocktail that first night: every other time had been one hundred percent Papa Winchester.

It had worked well enough until the day Dean had deliberately started pushing him harder and harder, acting up until John had felt so trapped and guilty that he’d run away. Their dad disappearing had been one hell of a convenient excuse to ask baby brother for help.

Dean knew his father and Sam better than anyone, certainly better than they knew each other or themselves. Jealousy was the key, just enough to rouse their stubborn competitiveness and entitlement. From the day Sam had seen John screwing him, it had only been a matter of time – and witnessing all those strangers taking turns had been the final nail in the coffin. It had been a calculated risk, running away after he’d ‘discovered’ Sam and John together (like he hadn’t been hanging around the parking lot, spying on them until the opportune moment arrived); however, he’d been fairly sure that his guilt-ridden little brother loved him enough to follow.

As expected, John had also followed – first to the club, and then to the motel where he and Sam had made love for the first time – but Sammy didn’t need to know that.

So, jealousy, yes. And superiority. They both needed to think that Dean was the poor little soldier being manipulated, trying to please everyone. Hell, Dean had been happy to give them that – and now he had what he’d wanted since Sam was fifteen: an intimate relationship with the person he loved the most, and possibly the only person who truly loved him back.

Of course, John had had to go.

An incestuous lust triangle was clearly never going to work, and Dean didn’t want the risk that either John and Sam’s attraction was too strong for them to resist, or that Sam realised that the whole thing was _way_ too fucked up and ran away again. Hell, John might even have tried to pry them apart for their own good; Lord knew that he was hypocritical enough.

Dean would have been content enough to just put their dad in the rearview mirror, but then the demon had done him a big fucking favour. Because in spite of how well it had all worked out in the end, Dean apparently couldn’t fully forgive their father for first debauching Sam and then chasing him away.

And if the eyes that he’d looked into when he’d pulled the trigger had been brown instead of yellow? Well. That was a burden that Sam didn’t need to share.

Sam stirred against Dean’s side and opened his eyes, blinking up at his brother and pressing a palm to his heart. “Time s’it?”

“You’ve only been sleeping a little while; it’s still early.”

Sam grunted and Dean slid down the bed to kiss him, teasing him most of the way awake with soft presses of his lips and little licks. Sam responded lazily, not fully aware and too sleepy for urgency. Dean subtly pushed him flat on his back on the mattress and rolled on top of him.

Sam was pliant beneath him and Dean insinuated himself between Sam’s thighs, sliding his hands over his brother’s body and then pressing his wrists to the pillow. His big palms covered Sam’s wrists and his rough, callused thumbs rubbed soothing circles into the vulnerable skin.

“Dean,” said Sam, in that reflexive way that had been a habit ever since his big brother’s name had been the very first word to tumble from his lips.

“Shh, Sammy. Always gonna take care of you,” murmured Dean, resting his forehead against Sam’s cheek and nudging his cock against his ass, still slick and open from their last round.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, little brother. Never gonna give you up. You’re mine.”

After all, John had given Sam to Dean when he was just four years old. And, as his father had learned the hard way, there were no take-backs for something like that. It was in Dean’s blood, pumping through his heart each second, making up the fundamental architecture of who he was. Sam was his and he was never going to forget that or let go while he still had breath in his body.

It was just the way he was wired.

 

 

THE END

 


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